


Madness Lurks Within

by disastergrace



Series: Crazies In Love [1]
Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Descriptive Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Getting committed to Arkham separately, Griggs is so fucked btw, Harley Quinn Origin - Freeform, Harley and Jonny are buddies, Harley/ Joker OTP, Harley/Ivy BROTP, J finds Harley’s acrobatics skills a huge turn on, Joker is a soft boy when he’s alone with Harley, Joker/Harleen, Joker/Harley - Freeform, No abuse, Protective and possessive Joker, So is Waller honestly, Wrecking mayhem, crazies in love, getting committed together, good dad to two hyenas, post-Suicide Squad, pre-suicide squad, protective Jonny, protective and possessive Harley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-09-01 01:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disastergrace/pseuds/disastergrace
Summary: “She knew that he wasn’t fooled by the sudden “sweet little doctor” charade she’d just put on. He was known for finding the darkest parts of people and dragging it out, inch by inch, till it was all that was left. He didn’t pollute you, that’s where people got confused. He didn’t infect you with his darkness, he just forced yours to the surface. And the worst part about it? If he didn’t slowly torture you with it, he made you relish in it.“- A Joker/Harley fic that starts with her as his doctor in Arkham and goes on post Suicide Squad





	1. Love At First Sight’s A Myth... Right?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters of Joker, Harley, Poison Ivy, Batman, or Jonny Frost. Any original characters or artistic liberties taken belong to me. Please don’t steal my ideas. Ta!

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters or the basic plotline of the HQXJ love story, which belong to the DC Universe. But any creative liberties I take with this belong to me. Please do not take my ideas etc etc.  
A/N: I’ve read every Harley Quinn Origin FF there is so I decided I needed to write my own. I have an unhealthy obsession with these two. Especially Puddin :)))

P.S: This chapter is going to be shorter than the rest, it’s just giving you taste as I get started. I’m super excited about this project. 

Chapter One

Dr. Harleen Quinzel was walking down a dank hallway in Arkham Asylum, the clicking of her heels echoing eerily. She was wringing her hands nervously in front of her as she approached Dr. Arkham’s office door. It was her first day, fresh out of college. She graduated from both high school and college at an early age so here she was, at an asylum for the criminally insane, at the age of twenty three. Her blonde hair was twisted up into a messy bun, strands falling around her face and the nape of her neck. On her nose rested square, black frames. They weren’t particularly necessary for everyday use, just reading, but she thought they made her look professional. Harleen was no fool, she knew the other psychiatrists would doubt her. She knew that they would assume her looks were why she got where she was. But she’d prove them wrong. She was good at what she did and determined as hell to be the best. She nervously smoothed down her black, knee length skirt and made sure her blue button up was tucked in neatly. After finally gathering up the courage, Harleen knocked twice. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a sharp voice rang out, telling her to enter. “Dr. Arkham? I’m here to pick up what you’d like me to work on today.”  
“Ah, yes, Miss. Quinzel, wel-”  
  
“Doctor.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Doctor Quinzel. Not Miss. Quinzel.”  
  
“My apologies, Dr. Quinzel.”  
  
Harleen could hear the underlying sarcasm but chose to ignore it.  
  
“It’s fine Dr. Arkham. I would just like to receive my patient list and get started with my day.”  
“Well, Dr. Quinzel, you will only have two patients to start off with. James Turner and Allison Frank. Now, these two patients are lower level, but that does not, by any means, mean that they’re safe. They’re still insane, and criminals, dangerous ones at that.” He looked her over, taking in her tiny frame. “Are you positive you can handle this? We can, of course, start you off with just one patient at a time if need be.”  
“Of course, Dr. Arkham. I can handle myself just fine. I’m well aware that this job has risks. I’ve come quite prepared and will be just fine. Thank you.” Harleen turned to leave, almost shaking with an odd combination of anger and exhilaration. She was pissed that a desk warmer, like Dr. Arkham, who hadn’t gotten his hands dirty with a patient in years, could look down on her in such a way. And she knew it wasn’t because she was a rookie. It was because she was a woman. Not just a woman either; a 5’3, 115 pound, blonde, gymnast. Those factors screamed incompetent to Dr. Arkham. Now, if she were a 6’1 man? He wouldn’t have doubted her capability of handling two low level patients. But at the same time, she was brimming with excitement and ready to dive right in. The faster she climbed through the ranks, the faster she could dig her claws into the more complex, and twisted minds.   
She nearly ran all the way to her office, impatient to get started. She bust through her door and sped over to her desk, she flung herself into her chair and rushed to booted up the computer. She was eager to start reading the files on her patients and start developing a treatment plan. Harleen nearly growled in frustration when the login popped up. She started frantically shuffling through the papers the secretary had given her when she had first arrived, looking for her employee access code. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!”  
She banged the flat of her palm onto her desk, causing it to sting. ‘Thank god,’ she thought once she finally found the paper. She quickly typed the nine digit code into the system, and the computer came to life. Harleen moved the cursor over the icon titled “Files”, and clicked, which caused page after page to pop up. 

  


“James Turner, six foot five, hair is shoulder length and plain brown, brown eyes, missing left pinky, skull tattoo covering entire chest.  
Crimes: Arson, manslaughter, vehicular manslaughter, murder in the first degree (Girlfriend, Girlfriend’s best friend), murder in the second degree (Mother, Father), kidnapping, animal abuse  
Diagnosis: No diagnosis as of yet, new psychiatrist assigned 6/17/2015 (Dr. Harleen Francis Quinzel)  
Medications: Trazodone for insomnia, Carbamazepine for erratic moods and aggression, (have been adjusted a multitude of times, see page 12 for previous dosages and medications)  
Additional Treatments: Occasional electroshock therapy, group therapy (resulted in Turner attacking the patient seated next to him, sending patient 7690 to the hospital wing and Turner to solitary confinement for a week), Individual therapy every Monday and Wednesday”

  


Electroshock therapy, which Harleen is vehemently against, an assortment of drugs, solitary confinement, etcetera. Harleen frowned at the methods attempted. None of them appealed to the human side of James, besides the group therapy, which would antagonise someone so obviously paranoid. She frowned, eyebrows creasing. ‘Well, no wonder they’ve had no success.’ She went through the pages again, as quickly as she could, and decided that the first thing she would try, would be to befriend him. She was well aware that it was a cliched approach, but this man felt betrayed by his girlfriend, who he thought was cheating on him with her male best friend, his mother had just recently remarried when he killed her, so he obviously felt she was leaving him as well. He had severe abandonment issues from what she could see. So if she could convince him that she was there for him, not just using him or planning on abandoning him, perhaps he would open up. And if he opened up, diagnosing him would be much easier.  
  


Harleen checked her watch, and when she saw that she had ten minutes till her first appointment with James Turner, stood, pulled her lab coat from the back of her chair and put it on, buttoning the middle two buttons. She pulled Turner’s records off the printer, they were still warm, and placed them in a tabbed Manila folder, writing his name in her looped handwriting, before she grabbed a legal pad and a black pen. After shutting down her computer, she slipped into the starch white hallway that the upper offices lined rather than the dark hallways that the offices in the heart of the asylum had the misfortune of occupying. She honestly didn’t know which she preferred. The doom and gloom or the blinding, unnatural white.   


The click of her heels still echoed up here and, not unlike in the doom and gloom hallways, it was still eerie. She gripped the folder tighter to her chest, knowing that the other doctors would see it as her shielding herself. She knew that they would be right. The elevator ride was just as quiet, no falsely cheery elevator music or attempts at small talk from a coworker. She shifted on her toes, a feeling of dread had filled her chest but she had no clue as to why. She wasn’t afraid of Turner, that she knew for a fact. In fact she was thrilled to be working with her first patient. And yet? Her legs felt like lead and her heart was filled with ice. She couldn’t hold out any longer and gave into her nervous tick, she pushed her glasses up her nose and smoothed her flyaways. Which was redundant seeing as her glasses were already in place and her bun was messy on purpose. Finally, finally, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, freeing Harleen from the claustrophobia that had been creeping in. She darted out of the elevator, and then she was sprawled on the floor, her glasses went skidding and her head cracked against the tiled floor.  
“Oh shit.”  
  
Her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted into a near snarl. She slowly looked up at the guard who’s chest she’d barrelled into, her glare deadly from under her eyelashes. “Yeah. Oh shit.”  
  


The guard, who’s ID said “Tyler Johnson”, gulped and shifted back a step. “I’m so sorry, Miss! You came running out so fast and I barely had time to see you coming much less move out of the way. Are you alright?”  
  
Her glare was still burning and her chest was heaving with anger. “Doctor.”  
  
His eyebrows scrunched in confusion and he shifted back another step. He swore that the glare she was throwing his way would burn holes through his head. “What?”  


Her snarl grew deeper and her eyes narrowed even further, becoming nothing but slits, “It’s not “‘Miss”’, It’s Doctor you ass!” Her sight had turned red the second she’d hit the floor and all rationality had gone out the window when he’d used the wrong title to address her.  
  


“Oh. Oh! I’m sorry, Doctor.” His shoulders had slumped, and his gaze had lowered to the floor.  
Harleen closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her nose. She’d always had a temper and she knew, logically, that she had run into him. She rose to her knees, and forced a smile on her face, eyes fluttering open. “It was my fault. Sorry. Stressful first day.” She stood up all the way and finally noticed that the guard wasn’t alone. He was accompanied by two other guards, each broader and more burly than the last. And yet, what really drew her eye was the shock of green hair over their shoulders. Her eyes zeroed in on the lean figure that the vibrant hair topped, scanning him over. His skin was white. And she didn’t mean pale, she meant WHITE. It was unnatural, it had to be. The combination of his hair and his skin was odd. She couldn’t quite explain it, the way he should look ridiculous and yet he was... fuck, she couldn’t find the right word. The only one that could come close was striking. Perhaps beautiful? No, that wasn’t right. He was beautiful, for sure, but it was in a very non traditional sense. Striking fit him better. His jaw was sharp, and his cheekbones prominent. But what drew her in, wasn’t his white skin or even, really, the fact that he must have been quite handsome once, before he’d become The Clown Prince. It was his eyes. They were a green almost as vibrant as his hair, and they were burning.  
  


She slowly bent over to pick up her glasses, and the folder full of James Turner, but her eyes never strayed from his. They were clawing into her soul, figuring her out. They followed her movement, flicking to her glasses on the floor before going back to her face. A smile twisted its way across his face, and somehow she felt like she’d passed his test. She knew that he wasn’t fooled by the sudden “sweet little doctor” charade she’d just put on. He was known for finding the darkest parts of people and dragging it out, inch by inch, till it was all that was left. He didn’t pollute you, that’s where people got confused. He didn’t infect you with his darkness, he just forced yours to the surface. And the worst part about it? If he didn’t slowly torture you with it, he made you relish in it. He brought out the worst parts of you and forced you to accept it. She drew up sharply and turned her eyes back to the guard, Johnson, and put on her sweetest smile. She’d worked too hard and too long to hide her darkness, she wasn’t going to let a patient, even one as notorious as The Joker, ruin that. “Sorry once again, Mr. Johnson. For throwing myself at you, literally, and getting angry with you. Between you and me, while I’m so excited to start this job, I’ve had such a stressful day. And now,” she looked down at her watch, “I’m going to be late to my first session. Gotta run!” Her grin grew wider and she took off at a near jog, still feeling the lingering burn of The Joker’s gaze. 

  


The guards were standing with Turner, quite obviously annoyed and impatient, outside the session room when she arrived. Her fake smile was still plastered on and it was causing her face to start to ache. “Hello gentlemen! Let’s get Mr. Turner situated in the room and then I think we’ll be all set!” She thought she might start bleeding if she didn’t stop forcing that smile. They were still staring at her, looking confused rather than annoyed at this point. ‘Why aren’t they just standing there staring at me?’ She dropped the fake smile, her aching cheeks thanking her for doing so. “Is there a problem?”  
  
“Ma’am, we have to stay in the room for the session. It’s against regulation for us to leave.”  
  


Harleen was getting frustrated. She just wanted to get to her work and these goddamn guards kept getting in her way. “I understand, gentlemen, that you’re just doing your job,” her voice grew steely, leaving no room for argument, “but this is my patient and my session and I was under the impression that patients had the right to medical privacy. So, we’ll bring Mr. Turner inside, get him seated, and then you will leave us to our session.” This time her smile wasn’t sickly sweet, it was threatening. More of her baring her teeth. “Now please unlock the door.” The guard on the left rushed forward, leaving only the one to hold onto Turner, slid his keycard across the magnetic strip, and pushed the door open. She had her own keycard, and because she was a doctor she had access to pretty much every room in the facility, but getting him to open the door for her was a final act of dominance. “Thank you.” She stepped past him, heels hitting the ground harder than necessary, smile still feral. The session was kind of boring after that. Turner answered her basic questions, but none of her in-depth ones, which was to be expected, he raved about her total emotional destruction of the guards for a bit and then he sat there. And yet she still took diligent notes, determined to cure Turner as quickly as possible so she could move up to harder cases. 

  


The car ride home was dull, her radio was broken so there was no background noise to entertain her overactive mind, and the torrential downpour of rain blocked out any potential scenery. Her car was old, but not old enough to be considered a “classic.” Honestly, it was a piece of junk, but she was too broke to afford anything better. She managed to make it home without her car crapping it out on her, which was a surprise since it never did well in the rain, and she nearly collapsed in relief when she walked into her apartment. She kicked her heels off so violently they landed near the couch and nearly went under it. She dropped her purse onto the table near the front door and padded barefoot into the kitchen, pulling her hair out of its bun and letting it drop loose around her shoulders. Her mom had always made her style her hair as a short bob and she’d always hated it. Once she’d moved out, Harleen started growing it out to two that it reached the bottom of her rib cage when she allowed it to fall in its natural curls. A groan tore from her throat and her head dropped against the counter. Her day honestly hadn’t been that bad. It could have been much worse. But she still felt emotionally exhausted. She almost kicked the asses of two seperate guards, her patient had been less than cooperative, and she couldn’t get The Joker out of her goddamn head. I mean honestly! She only saw him one time and it wasn’t even for that long. And yet… everytime she closed her eyes there he was. White skin, emerald hair, and those damn eyes. She could still feel them on her skin. The burning was still there hours later.  
  


She straightened up and strode into her living room, pushing the coffee table to the side, making space for her to practice before going into her bedroom. She changed out of her work clothes into a pair of old leggings and a camisole, throwing her hair up into a high ponytail. The burn of her stretches slowly replaced the burn of his eyes as hers slowly closed. She stood on her hands and eased her legs into a split, feeling the tightening in her core muscles and the stretch in her thighs, flexing her toes towards the ground. Gymnastics had always been her escape. Growing up in The Narrows had been hard. Her parents had struggled daily to bring home enough money to feed themselves and their daughter, and they certainly couldn’t afford daycare when she was a toddler. There was a ratty gym down the street from her home where kids whose parents had a bit more money than the rest of the neighborhood took gymnastics, and her father had just happened to be friends with the man who ran it, so that’s where she’d spend her days. She was there while he was giving classes so she’d join in, having nothing better to do. Learning to tumble at first and progressing quite quickly. She was Olympic ready by the time she was sixteen but didn’t try out, working at the coffee shop on the corner to help her parents out financially instead. But she did compete on her high school team up until she graduated at the age of seventeen, which got her a full ride scholarship to Gotham University. Her parents hadn’t wanted her to attend, wanting her to stay with them and work instead, continuing to help them out. It ended in a loud fight, and they haven’t spoken to each other since. Harleen still sent them a few hundred dollars each month, despite the fact that they didn’t attend her high school or college graduation, and hadn’t said a word to her in over six years.  
Harleen gently lowered herself onto her forearms and twisted her legs into a pose incredibly reminiscent of a scorpion, legs in the air above her head. Her mind was blank, The Joker’s burning gaze no longer haunting her. At least in that moment.   


The clock blinking 2 am on the tv stand across the room brought her out of her reverie. Fuck. It was late and she had to be up and dressed by 6:30 am. She quickly repositioned her coffee table and retreated to her room, stripping out of her sweaty clothes, then hopped into the shower. It took her all of two minutes before she was back in her room and pulling on a pair of underwear and a T-shirt. She laid in her bed for a solid ten minutes, tossing and turning, before she gave up. She wasn’t going to fall asleep by herself at this point. Harleen dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She pulled out some temazepam that she’d prescribed herself for nights where she’d kept herself up using gymnastics to run away from her problems, and swallowed two dry. She slipped back into her bed and pulled a pillow over her head.

  


The next morning she had to wear more concealer than she usually did to hide the dark circles under her eyes. She even wore her hair down in an attempt to draw attention away from the obvious exhaustion you could see all over her face. Even with the temazepam it had still taken her two hours to fall asleep, which meant she only got roughly another two of sleep. But despite the sleep deprivation, she looked as pristine as ever. Her red button up was tucked in primly and her skirt was tight around the tops of her knees. Her heels were red today, rather than her usual black, matching her shirt. Her makeup was simple, with black, winged eyeliner and bright, red lipstick that matched her shirt and shoes. She placed her glasses on the bridge of her nose and threw her lab coat over the crook of her arm. Her purse was the last thing she had to grab and then she was out the door, rushing down the stairs and sliding into her clunker of a car. The car ride to the Asylum was pretty much the same as her drive home the evening before, dull and gray. And when she stepped out of the car, into the misting rain, there was only one thought running through her head,  
‘Maybe I’ll catch another glimpse of that hair.’

JHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQJHQ

The sound of Doctor Quinzel’s heels drew the attention of the guards posted at every corner, their eyes running up and down her body in a way that was most definitely not professional. She ignored their gazes, and the violent urges they arose, as she unlocked her office. ‘What’s with the increased security?’ The guards were usually limited to the hallways where patients were roomed and the movement of said patients to various activities. Harleen turned on her computer, placed her white lab coat on the back of her chair, and lit a candle she had stored in one of her desk drawers in an attempt to block out the smell of must.  
Today was her first session with Allison Frank, one of the rarer female patients at the asylum. Yesterday morning, she would have been thrilled, but today? Today there was only one patient on her mind. All she could do was compare Allison and her drab personality disorder and the boring things she’d done, to the enigma that was The Joker and his twisted, complex crimes. How was she supposed to work with other patients? How was she supposed to help them if all she could manage was a bored, mild interest? Her head dropped onto her desk with a thud. She needed to get her shit together if she was going to be successful here.   


She’d only been at Arkham Asylum a grand total of a day and a half and she was already developing an unhealthy obsession with a patient. And not just any patient either, because Harleen never does anything in halves; so obviously she had to develop an obsession with the cruelest, most twisted and infamous patient in the place. Fuck, fuck, fuck. With each curse she banged her head on the desk. ‘Okay. Okay, this is fine. I’m a professional and I’m damn good at what I do. So, no more Joker. No more seeing him when I close my eyes, and definitely no more comparing my patients to him. This is fine.’ Harleen took a deep breath and sat up. She pulled up Allison’s files and started reading. She’d made the decision to act as if she’d never seen Him, as if He hadn’t been running rampant through her mind and causing her to lose sleep. She swiftly typed up the rough draft of her treatment plan for Allison Frank. She actually wasn’t that boring once Harleen read up on her more. Her Bipolar Disorder and Histrionic Disorder created the perfect storm, which resulted in outbursts of extreme violence when Allison felt that she was being mistreated, ignored, or given negative attention. Occasionally she’d harm herself, but usually she harmed the people who made her feel that way. And her need for attention? It made it to where she actually spoke to Harleen. Now, it also made it to where the psychiatrist had to make a great effort in discerning what was truth and what was a lie to get more of said attention, but she was still talking. And that gave Harleen something to work with.  


As she was walking out for the day, her arms piled with folders and a smile on her face, she stopped short when her eyes were drawn to blood pooled on the floor. She knew that there’d been an attack earlier that morning, but it had been five floors down, and the blood would have dried by now. “What the hell?” Harleen looked around, her eyebrows furrowed. “Hello?” Her call echoed down the hallway, and she nearly dropped her files when an unsettling laugh answered. She knew that laugh. Everyone in Gotham knew that laugh. “Oh shit.” Her voice was nothing but a whisper barely audible over the sound of pounding footsteps. A guard came running around the corner, panic etched all over his face. It was Johnson, the guard she’d knocked into the day before.  
  
“Get behind me! Get behind me now!”  
  
This time she did drop her files, her papers flew all over the hall, some turning scarlet as they landed in the blood by her feet. “What’s going on?” He didn’t answer her, he simply placed himself between her and where that laugh had come from. She hit his back with the flat of her hand, “Johnson! What is going on?”  
  
“The Joker, he, I don’t know, he managed to make a shiv out of something, he stabbed Jerry in the neck. He’s dead.”  
Oh shit, indeed. “Johnson, you need to call for backup. Why the fuck haven’t you called for backup?” She was gripping the back of his shirt tightly and slowly backing up, dragging him with her. That laugh sounded off again, closer this time.  
  
“Ty-ler. Come out, come out, wherever you are!” His voice was just as difficult to describe as his appearance. It was predatory and feral. The way he enunciated some syllables, and rolled others in the back of his throat gave him a very unusual cadence. His voice was contradictory, gritty in some places and a velvety purr in others. It was enthralling. She was just thankful that she couldn’t see his eyes. She knew that if she was being pinned in place by those black holes as his voice lulled over her, she’d be done for. Completely frozen in place and vulnerable.  
  
“Johnson. Johnson! Pick up the walkie, Johnson!” He was frozen. Her hands fumbled at his utility belt, groping around for his radio. It was missing. “Fuck, Johnson! Where’s your radio?!”  
  
“I dropped it.”  
  
Her voice turned deadly. “What?”  
  
“I, um, dropped it, when I was, um, running. I tried to call for backup, but I-I, tripped and dropped it and had to leave it behind.”  
  


“You. Idiot! You couldn’t have picked it back up? I mean, honestly!” She punctuated each word with an angry slap to the security guard’s back. In her anger, the Narrows accent she’d worked so hard to repress slipped through and by the final word it was incredibly thick.  
When that green hair came around the corner, she stopped, taking him in. His body was coiled, every muscle tensed as if he was preparing to spring. He was just as fair as she remembered, but now there were splatters of blood on his neck and jaw, the scarlet more shocking due to the contrast against his skin. His hair was tousled, giving him a boyish look. He wasn’t in his straitjacket, the only restraints he had on were the shackles on his wrists. The guards had obviously been fooled into a false sense of security. Her first assessment the day previous had been right, he was lean. But the straitjacket had hidden how toned he really was, shielding his firm, muscled build from view. His smile was stretched unnaturally wide, and had to be painful. Harleen looked up at the burly man in front of her, silently begging him to do something, anything. But he was still just standing there, gaping at The Joker with wide eyes. ‘Fuck it.’  
  


“Get out of my way, Johnson, you useless piece of shit. What kind of security guard are you?” Harleen shoved the him to the side and out from in front of her, stepping up and meeting The Joker’s eyes. “Now, Mr. Joker, I understand that you’re free and you’re angry about being locked up, but you better think twice before you come at me with that shiv. This would go much easier if you simply returned to your room. You haven’t hurt too many people yet. You’d probably only receive a week in solitary if you went back to your quietly, without further incident. But. If you try to stab me with that, you better hope you don’t miss.” Harleen shifted to widen her stance into a defensive position, “Because if you do, I will perforate your eye with the heel of my stiletto. And I promise you, I won’t miss.” She may be small, but she also grew up in the Gotham slums. And due to her gymnastics, she wouldn’t even have to take her heel off to stab him with it. His smile grew even wider, which she wouldn’t have thought was even possible, and he moved a step closer.  
  


“Well then. You’re a brave doctor, hm? Or maybe you’ve got a death wish.” He cocked his head to the side, eyeing her up and down. “Think you’re a tough little thing? You’ve got some fire in you, I’ll give you that.” His voice went from gravelly to sing-song as if someone had flipped a switch, “I saw it. The other day, hmmm?” His nonexistent eyebrows wiggled suggestively and his smile turned into a baring of the teeth, “With my friend TyTy right here. You wanted to hurt him. I could see it in your eyes, the bloodlust.” He stalked towards her, slowly, his finger dragging against the wall, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Naughty, Doc. Are you sure you aren’t the sick one? I’ve never seen that look in someone’s eyes that the quacks in charge of this place would define as “sane.”’ He started giggling, actually giggling, and now they were almost nose to nose. Harleen had refused to take a single step back, to show submission or fear. Her chin was jutted in defiance and her eyes narrowed.  
  


“You think I’m crazy, Clown? You want to test that theory?” His hand wrapped around her throat, and slammed her against the wall, his nose pressing against hers, a growl tearing from his throat. He was applying pressure to her windpipe just enough not to cut off her oxygen supply completely, but enough to make her breathing labored. His words were nothing but a hiss at this point.  
  


“You think you can play in the big leagues, Doc? I could snap your neck in an instant. You’re nothing but a little girl playing mind games with a bunch of simple minded loons. So watch. Your. TONGUE.” Her fingers were clawing at his, desperately trying to free herself. ‘I should not be as turned on as I am right now.’ With that thought, she slammed the heel of her red pump onto the bridge his slipper covered right foot as hard she could, twisting it violently. He didn’t even blink. “Feisty doctor.”  
  


“Want me to show you how feisty I can be?” Her voice was breathy, weaker than she would have liked. She told herself it was because of his hand around her throat and not the pool of warmth in her stomach. She lifted her foot again, but this time she leveled it with his groin and lashed out. He let out another echoing laugh and released her, taking a step back. His eyes landed on the ID badge pinned to her coat and his smile grew manic.  
  


“This was fun, Doctor Quin-zel” The way her name rolled off his tongue sent a shiver down her spine. He grabbed a strand of her hair and twirled it around his finger, purring. “Come see me sometime.” He snapped his teeth in her face and growled, before stalking off. She watched him stride down the hallway, her chest heaving with each breath. ‘Johnson. I forgot about Johnson.’ She turned to where he’d been standing after she’d shoved him. He was gone. He’d left her! He’d frozen, rather than fighting back and then, when The Joker had her pinned up against the wall, he’d taken off. She was going to kill him. Her hand went up to her throat and gently traced where The Joker’s fingers had just gripped her. She was so fucked.  
  


Harleen pushed off the wall, and began gathering her papers as quickly as she could, eyes darting around to make sure there were no cameras. There weren’t. Arkham’s funding was thousands of dollars less than it needed, so any cameras that they did have were only on the secured floors. Even the session rooms didn’t have cameras, the doctors brought the hand held cameras they’d been given on their first day to their sessions, and each room was equipped with a multitude of panic buttons.  
  


She was planning on simply gathering her things and escaping to her car. Tomorrow, if they asked her if she’d seen or had any contact with The Joker, she’d say no. And if that weasel Johnson tried to disagree, it would be his word against hers. She was planning on putting her foot so far up his ass he’d taste it anyways. She had to stand there for a moment, debating whether she was going to pick up the pages that had fallen into the blood that had to be Jerry’s. They were totally drenched at this point, not a speck of white visible. She sighed and just went for it. If she left them there, then it was evidence that she had been there.   


For a second she grew concerned when she realized the the blood coating her fingers didn’t disturb her as much as it should. Or at all. But she got distracted by the sound of heavy footsteps pounding on the tiled floor, coming from behind her. She shoved all of her papers into the single folder she’d managed to pick up and dashed down the hallway, slamming down on the elevator button. Luckily the folder she’d grabbed was the only file with a patient name written on it, and therefore, the only one tying back to her. The doors slid open and she slipped inside, pushing the ground floor button rapidly. ‘Fuck. Shit. Damn. Fucking CLOSE!’  
  


When she reached the lobby she had to calm herself, there was a camera here, along with a secretary, and running out of the building with her fingers dripping blood would definitely draw attention. She shoved her hand deep into the pocket of her lab coat in an attempt to hide the incriminating scarlet painted on her fair skin. She put her head down, concealing the nervous twitch of her top lip and quickly strode across the lobby, shouldering the door open. When she had passed enough cars, and felt she was far enough away from the Asylum, Harleen broke into a dead sprint.  
  


She basically didn’t stop running until she was on the floor of her kitchen, her car in its assigned parking spot. Her arms were stretched wide above her head, her hands locking the edge of the counter in a death grip. Her legs were splayed in front of her, her purse hanging off her right elbow and brushing the side of her face. She was shaking, but not for the reasons she knew she should be. She wasn’t trembling because of her brush with death at the hands of a psychopathic, unreasonably attractive, clown. No. She was trembling from the adrenaline still rushing through her veins. From the arousal clouding her mind. She was scared, sure. She was worried sick at the thought of her superiors finding out that The Joker had pinned her against a wall by her throat and then just let her walk away. That they’d learn he’d invited her to ‘Come see him sometime,’ and that she was sorely tempted to do so. Her eyes fell to the file on the ground next to her. Red-stained pages peeked out from the top. She released the counter and shakily pulled the tabbed file onto her lap, flipping it open. The top page was bloody, mostly dried at this point, and crinkly. The fingers that touched it, oh so gently, were just as crimson and trembling as they traced the words “Doctor Harleen F. Quinzel” printed at the top.   


Her fingers clenched suddenly, crushing the paper in her fist.  
This was ridiculous. She’d worked too hard, for too long, for one damn clown to affect her career this easily. She’d clawed her way from the dirt of this city. Who does that loon think he is? He does NOT get to just show up and break her after only two run ins. Hell no. She rose to her feet with a grace only dancers and gymnasts possess, the blood stained sheet gripped tightly in her hand. He was going to have to try a lot harder than this. She was going to put up one hell of a fight, and if she went down she was taking him with her, in any way possible. She stormed over to the paper shredder she had in her home office, and angrily fed it the crushed sheets in her hand.   


The cabinet door almost broke as she swung it open ferociously, grabbing the first bottle of wine she saw and a wine glass out of the sink. She rinsed it out and flopped on the couch, watching as the red wine, darker than the blood crusted on her right hand, poured, swirling and filling the glass. And that’s what her night contained. Glass after glass, until every bit in the bottle had touched her lips. Until her eyes fluttered shut and her hand fell, brushing the carpet. Her stained fingers look vibrant in contrast to its white fibers, and one last drop of red wine slid over the lip of the glass as it hit the ground, staining the soft carpet its deep burgundy.  
  


The pounding in her head was what woke her up that next morning, not her alarm. Or the numerous missed calls from ‘Work’ displayed on her phone’s screen. ‘Fuck.’ She cradled her head in her hands and sat up, groaning. ‘Fuuuuuuuuck.’ She stared at her phone for a moment, blinking slowly. “Yesterday wasn’t a dream. Shit.” She almost fell off the couch when she realized that her narrows accent was still coming through thick, and saw that her hand was still crusted with someone else’s blood. She got up, walking into her bathroom and washed her hands, scrubbing intensely. She was going through what fuzzy memories she had of the night before and decided she liked how confident she’d felt. She really was intelligent , and she really was good at her job. Why was she trying so hard to impress people with her appearance? The glasses, changing her voice, she was done with it.   


She washed her face and brushed her teeth, plaiting her hair quickly and deftly. She lined her eyes in black before swiping a mascara wand over her lashes swiftly. She went with navy slacks today, pairing them with a white button up, a matching blazer, and nude heels. Her lab coat was in the washing machine. She’d thrown it in there last night, drenching it in bleach in an attempt to get the red stain out of its pocket. She’d been drunk so she’d probably used more bleach than was necessary. She pinned her ID onto her waistband and strode out the door, purse and phone in hand. She looked good. Her blue eyes looked bigger without those bulky, black frames obscuring them. She knew she looked nice but that thought was only reinforced by the thrice-overs she kept receiving from the male employees at the Asylum.  
  


Her session with James Turner went better than the first one, he spoke more, but nothing more than pleasantries and small talk. She had an authentic smile on her face the entire time as she scribbled notes on her legal pad furiously. It was still there an hour later when she was transcribing those notes onto her computer. No one had commented on the change in her voice, though there had been a few double takes, and odd looks. Her day took a turn from its usual scheduling when an email from Doctor Hugo Strange popped up on her desktop. ‘What?’ Her eyebrows creased as she clicked on the notification, causing the email to open. 

  


“Doctor Quinzel,  
I know we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting in person but it seems you have met my patient, patient Number 0926. I don’t know how you two know each other, but he refuses to speak to me or any other psychiatrist that isn’t you. He said, and I quote,  
“If the next Doctor that comes in her isn’t the blonde bombshell that is Dr. Quinzel, they won't be walking out.”  
He then proceed to refuse to say anything else other than manic laughter for the rest of the session. This was after he broke several of Dr. Leland’s fingers. I figured that perhaps he was just feeling, ahem like a man, and any woman doctor would do. And that perhaps these new urges would help us get more out of him. So I sent Leland in there, since she is, in fact, a woman and has more experience than you do. But that, obviously, didn’t work out. So I would like to set up a session with you and him, just to see how it goes. Now I most certainly am not handing over my most high profile case just on the whim of a madman, but I figure if you’re up to it, it might be productive. If the session goes well, then maybe we can discuss with Dr. Arkham how to proceed from there. Please respond promptly if this is something you are willing to do. I know that #0926 can be intimidating, so if you feel it’s too much for you then that will be fine.  
Let me know,  
Doctor Hugo R. Strange of Gotham’s Arkham Asylum”

  


Harleen sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back in her chair. Obviously she wanted to work with The Joker. She found what she knew of his psychosis incredibly intriguing. And if she cracked his case? She’d be world renowned. She’d sell millions of copies of her future book, shed be on talk shows. She’s always wanted to be famous, and she could use him to achieve that goal. But at the same time, she knew this was a bad idea. Her fascination with him was already reaching an unhealthy level and he was making urges rise up that she’d worked so hard to bury. She was on the brink, and spending the amount of time with him that being his psychiatrist would require might be the push that sends her spiralling over the edge. That thought scared her, but what scared her more was the fact that it didn’t bother her as much as it should have. She was well aware of the fact that she had this hole inside of her, and the only thing that could fill it would get her locked up in the Asylum herself.   


Her mother had worked tirelessly during Haleen’s teens to coach her young daughter, helping her only child build up the near airtight façade that Harleen wore everyday. Her recklessness and violence as a youngster had scared her mom at her first, but the maternal instinct to protect had quickly taken over. This mask cracked easily in the Clown King of Gotham’s presence, and she worried that spending extended amounts of time with him would cause it to crumble completely. She’d grown comfortable putting on the mask of normality, but a small part of her still longed for the freedom she’d felt without it. She’d kept everyone at a distance for as long as she could remember. She had been terrified that if anyone got too close they’d see through to the darkness within.  
Harleen responded with a simple,

  


“Doctor Hugo Strange,

It would be my pleasure to assist with the case of patient number 0926. We should meet to discuss this, how about tomorrow at 10:00? Thank you for the opportunity that’s being afforded to me here. And please pass my condolences about her fingers onto Dr. Leland. 

Thank You,  
Doctor Harleen Francis Quinzel of Gotham’s Arkham Asylum”

  


She clicked on the send icon and collapsed back into her chair. And sighed, closing her eyes.  
“Ah, fuck it.”


	2. Chapter Two: First Session With The Clown

Authors Note: Hi guys! So so sorry for the wait! I’m thrilled with the response to this story. Don’t worry, I’m not abandoning it and will definitely continue to update, college has just been kicking my ass lately. Let me know what you guys think of the Joker movie and if I should go see it. I’m hesitant to see it as I’m nervous that the backstory might ruin the enigma that is Mr. J. Also I didn't really get to edit this chapter as much as I'd have liked so if you see any errors feel free to point them out nicely :)

Harleen strutted through the halls, towards Doctor Strange’s office, with confidence. Glassesless, her hair plaited instead of in its typical bun and her lips a vibrant red, she felt confident and ready to take on The Joker. She was in charge here. Not him. She was the doctor, him the patient. She’s got this. 

Strange nearly let out a cough when he took in her appearance and Harleen held back a smirk. She fiddled with the end of her braid and took a step closer to his desk. “You wanted to see me, Doctor Strange?” He cleared his throat and shuffled a bit in his chair.

“Ah, yes, Doctor Quinzel. Today’s your first session with the clown, yes?” Harleen’s eyes narrowed at the derogatory way he said “clown”, a weird feeling of protectiveness surging through her. 

“The Joker. Yes.” She checked her watch. “Speaking of which, my session is in just a few minutes. Is there something I can do for you, Doctor?” She was struggling to keep her tone and the atmosphere light, but she knew she must be radiating animosity. Hugo sighed. He seemed to do that alone when talking to Harleen. 

“I just want to make sure you’re going to be okay in your session today, Harleen.” She seethed at his continued refusal to show her the respect that came with her title. “We did just have a recent issue with the clo-” he coughed conspicuously, “the Joker. I know that I reached out to you about this, but I’m starting to feel a bit nervous about it. You’re so young and have so much potential. It would be a shame if something were to happen.” Harleen had to resist the urge to roll her eyes aggressively. She could handle the Joker. She had been face to face with him before and she was prepared this time. Her blonde flew off and behind her shoulder and wiggled vigorously as she shook her head, blue eyes flashing with ice.  
“I can assure you, Dr. Arkham, that I will be fine. I’ve come well prepared and I believe that I can do some good here.” She looked down at her phone. “Speaking of which, Doctor, I really need to be going. It’s harder to form a trusting relationship with the patient if you show a lack of respect for their time. I’ll email you any progress made at a later time. Thank you for your concern.” Her smile was closed lipped and definitely not friendly before she rushed from the office, successfully stopping herself from turning around and correcting Arkham with his response of’  
“Good luck, Harleen.”

The Joker’s footsteps echoed down the stone hallway. Truth be told, the sound was the only reason he paced. He hated the silence. It let the voices grow louder. So to drown them out he caused mayhem and had a ball. And when he couldn’t do that, he made sound however he could. He knew that the stomping of his feet had to be driving his neighbors insane, well… more so, but that just made it more fun. Especially when the loons banged on the doors and walls, screeching at him to stop. The circulation in his arms was basically nonexistent, and his curled fingers were tingling. His green hair was no longer gelled back, instead it fell in his face just enough to irritate him and he growled impatiently, his pacing stopping in front of the thick plate of glass that acted as his door. He cackled and peered down the hall, dropping his head against the glass with a loud thud. He had a new psychiatrist today and they were due to collect him at any moment.

He was desperate for any form of entertainment at this point, not that he’d ever let the airheads here know that, and he was hoping that Arkham had finally let into his demand for the pretty blonde thing to be his doctor. If not, whoever the fuck was waiting for him in the session room would get worse than a few broken fingers. He had to up his game if that wasn’t enough to get them to cave. He giggled as he remembered the snapping sound of the bitches bony fingers, and the shrieks that followed. He slid to the floor giggling hysterically as he planned what he’d do the next unfortunate shrink if it wasn’t Quinzel. Imagining the feel of a shoulder sliding from it socket. The give of a tibia under his foot. The screams that would follow. The giggles escalated into full on hysterical laughter, and that’s how the guards found him. Curled up against the door, head thrown back against it and laughter ripping from his throat. He saw them shift nervously, hesitating outside his cell. This just caused another bout of laughs to spring from Joker’s belly. Big, bad, guards. Armed to the teeth, scared of a man in a straitjacket. He loved the thrill of power that fear gave him.

“Tsk, tsk, boys. Didn’t your mothers teach you not to stare?” Suddenly he was standing, turning his head this way and that, looking at his faint reflection. “What? I got something on my face?” That laughter was back again. He was relieved that these puppets were here. He’d been so bored and now he had things to play with. But their staring was starting to annoy him. He snapped his teeth in an animalistic gesture and growled. “You gonna get me outta here or what? My mind is just full to the brim with thoughts and feelings that need to be shared with my newest doctor.” The tallest guard straightened, seemingly reminded that he was there for a reason and that reason wasn’t to gape.  
“Step away from the door, 0926.” J pouted in an exaggerated manner. His voice drippingly sweet.

“What? You’re not scared of little old me now are you? Puh-lease, I’m harmless.” Toward the end of his sentence a growl had entered his voice, completely dominating it by the final word.

“Back. Away. Or you’ll miss your session with Doctor Quinzel.” At her name J had to keep himself from physically reacting. His mind was reeling. Excited to meet his new playmate that had piqued his interest so greatly, to pry her mind open and dig around in it. He smiled sweetly, in an attempt to show the guards he was going to play nice. For now. But he couldn’t keep the predatory edge from it, which kept the guards on high alert. Tall pulled out his nightstick as Shortstack pulled the door open. They both rushed in and grabbed J quickly under his arms. His eyes glinted at how close they were. Ooooh rookie mistake. They were easily within distance for him to sink his teeth into their flesh and rip. But he didn’t. He wanted to see this Doc-tor Quin-zel again. He loved the way her name rolled around his head, played on his tongue. 

Another snarl left his lips at the thought as the guards finished chaining him in a manner that allowed them to step father away and lead him as if on a leash. It was almost sad to him that they didn’t realize how easily it would be for him to turn that chain into a weapon. He tried to get them to talk with him, to play his game, but apparently they were trained just enough to know not to. So he settled on annoying them. He whistled and hummed, and at one point full on sang. All intentionally horribly, and just as he thought that Tall was gonna crack, they were there. Shortstack pulled open the heavy metal door that led into a damp and musty room. Gray light filtered in from barred windows high up on the wall. A steel table sat in the middle of the drab room, it was bolted to the floor and so were the chairs that accompanied it. The floors were a shockingly white tile, the only thing that wasn’t a dull gray in the whole room. The boring guards shoved him down into the chair farthest from the door, latching his chains to a hook sticking out of the tiles. Shortstack “accidentally” elbowed him in the head as he straightened up, and they moved into a stiff position behind him, staring straight ahead as if he wasn’t there. The sharp elbow to the temple drew another cackle from the Joker who slouched, dropping his head into his chest. 

The grinding of metal against tile drew J’s attention, although he didn’t show it. His muscles having coiled under his skin was the only physical indicator that he’d heard her entrance. She might intrigue him, but he wasn’t going to let her know just how interested he was. Her heels clicked as she neared and his senses were flooded with the scent of her. Cherry. And bubblegum. She sat in her chair calmly, and J saw her long creamy legs cross under the table. He heard her inhale, and then she spoke in that hypnotic voice.

“Hello Mr. Joker, my name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Now you can call me Doctor Harleen, Doctor Quinzel, or simply ‘Doc’ if you’d prefer. Now I do have some things I’d like to talk about but if there is anything, and I mean ANYTHING, that you’d like to talk about then please do. I would be more than happy to discuss it with you as long as it is appropriate.” Fuck, her voice. She worked hard to make it soft, compassionate. But he could hear the steel behind it that she couldn’t quite hide. Not from him anyway. It was time to play. He let out a slow, menacing, chuckle as he slowly lifted his head. 

“Hello, Doc.” He put bite into the last word, letting her know just what he thought of her status. He was smiling. But he knew it was more like he was baring his teeth. His eyes raked over her body, taking in her light blonde hair pulled back in a severe braid, icy blue eyes that held the same coldness as her voice, her full breasts, flat stomach, trim waist. She was toned, lightly muscled. Her petite framed screamed athlete and her eyes screamed something Other. She smiled back at him, hers was just as feral and predatory, holding an edge that he loved. They held eye contact for several minutes before she looked away. He thought he had won, that he had intimidated her, but she was simply turning to the guards, maintaining her that smile.  
“Thank you gentlemen. I can take it from here, if you would please wait outside. I’ll let you know when the session is over and it is time for Mr. Joker to be escorted to his cell.” The guards both blanched and shared a wide-eyed look. The Joker was just as surprised as they were. No doctor had ever insisted on being alone with him. Maybe she was stupid, but her eyes held intelligence.

“Um, ma’am, we’re supposed to remain here for the session. 0926 is dangerous and deranged. We’re here to ensure your safety. Any sign of warmth leaked from her smile, turning it cold and sharp, her eyes hardening as well as her voice.  
“Now you listen to me. First of all you will not speak of my patient as if he is not here and you certainly won’t refer to him as nothing more than a number. Second of all you saying such things is detrimental to his recovery and I will not stand for that.” Her voice became even sharper, an obvious threat. “Lastly, I outrank you here and this is my session. Mr. Joker is entitled to his patient confidentiality,and I will give him that. Now get. Out.” J burst into laughter. Oh yes. This was gonna be fun. 

The guards scurried out, thoroughly frightened, whether they’d ever willingly admit to that or not, and the door slammed behind them. Harleen’s glare had followed them out and when she turned back to him, she was still smiling that smile. The one that promised violence if her wishes were not complied with. J grinned back, relaxing against his chair and sprawling as much as his restraints allowed. “Well , well, well, Doc. Feisty aren’t we?” He bore his eyes into hers, trying hard to figure her out. Her smile became more genuine, she was seemingly amused by his statement and her eyes were searching his just as hard.

“Yes, well, I’m here to help you Mr. Joker. To make this journey as comfortable and easy as possible. Now let's get started.” 

Harleen clicked her pen and started jotting down on her legal pad. She wrote simply his name, her rough estimate of his age, and how he appeared to suffer regular physical abuse, more than likely from the guards. She settled back against her chair and twirled the pen between her fingers as she watched him analytically. “Is there anything you’d like to start us off with today, Mr. Joker?” She was trying her damndest to hide how nervous he made her. She knew he saw past the careful layers that hid that darkness underneath. He saw past the small stature, the baby blues, and the doctors coat. But she wouldn’t let him unravel all her hard work. Fuck no. She was going to unravel him. She was going to pick apart his brain until she knew every crevice and every nook. And then she’d write a book. She smiled at him, letting the darkness that she knew he saw seep through a bit. She was hoping that maybe if he saw the similarities, however slight (she refused to admit that even if she was a bit colder than others, that she was as deranged at the fucking Joker), he’d be more inclined to open up. 

The Joker returned her smile, his much more suggestive of violence than hers, and let a chuckle out through his teeth. “Why, Doctor, isn’t it your job to lead the session? Getting lazy on me already?” Her eyes narrowed. 

“No. Mr. Joker. My job is to help you through your recovery, however I believe would help. Not do all the work for you. But if you refuse to initiate I do have some questions to start us off with if that’s what you’d prefer.” Her temper had flared at his statement. She worked hard and anyone saying otherwise was in for it. Another slow chuckle left his mouth and he locked up at her through his lashes and a chunk of green strands that draped over his forehead. It shocked her how boyish he looked in that moment. It if weren’t for the shock that was his appearance, you could easily believe he wasn’t a madman. And even with his unusual looks, he was beautiful. The sharp bone structure and shining eyes. Even under the straitjacket she could tell he was muscular. He took her breath away. Fuck he was beautiful. If anyone ever asked her whether the Joker made her heart stutter and it harder for her to breathe she’d deny it vehemently. She knew he was well aware of the effect he was having on her in that moment, so she straightened up and set her pen down. 

“Oh, Harleen. Don’t be so typical. I thought you were going to be different from the other quacks here.” The lilting way he spoke was still hypnotizing and she had to blink to clear the haze that had settled over her mind. When she processed his words her eyes turned into slits and her teeth snapped together. She leaned forward and placed her hands on the table. 

“Mr. Joker, I don’t think you want to know just how different I am.” The words had left her mouth before she could stop them, before she could think about just how flirtatious they sounded. But they were out there now and she couldn’t take them back. So she wouldn’t back down. 

The Joker nearly blinked in surprise. Well. That’s the game they were playing then. His mouth curled up mischievously. “Doc-tor Quin-zel.” he rolled the syllables around his mouth like marbles, toying with them. “Now just what could you mean by that.” He leaned forward as well, letting her bubblegum breath wash over his face, his fingers itching to grip her delicate jaw. He dropped his eyes to her lips and slowly ran back up to her eyes, knowing she’d notice and wanting to see her how she’d react. He wasn’t disappointed. She nearly jerked away from him, she noticeably slowed herself down, and leaned against the back of her chair once more. He watched the pen dance between her dainty, manicured fingers as she thought out her next move. It was twirling nearly impossibly fast, only hinting at the grace that exudes from this creature. Finally she opened her mouth, before closing it again. The pen slowed, and then stopped completely before she placed it neatly next to her notepad. 

“Mr. Joker-” he growled, tired of the formality of the name. It grated on his nerves, the way she said it. It was a barrier she put up. A way to remind her of the fact that she was there as his doctor. It was another layer of her disguise. He clucked his tongue a couple times. 

“Doll, doll doll, enough with this ‘Mister’ bullshit. We both know I”m not a mister and it’s starting to piss me off.” Harleen sighed. He knew it annoyed her that he called her by a pet name, it was written all over her face, which just made him decide to do it more often.

“Fine then. What would you prefer to be called, hm?” He chuckled internally at the exasperation in her voice.

“I don’t give a damn, just stop with the formal title, got it?” It was a snap, to mask the amusement he felt inside. Sure, the formality grated on his nerves, but he enjoyed winding her up even more. 

“Okay, a compromise then. How about Mr. J? Appropriate for this setting, but less formal.” The Joker played with the new name, with the way it sounded and felt on his tongue. “So, Mr. J then?” His eyes rolled back in his head and he let out a purr. Oh he liked how it sounded coming from her mouth even more. It dripped from her tongue like sin, that Narrows accent that he’d gotten a taste of in the hallway when she’d gotten between him and his best bud Tyler slipping through a bit, making it all the more delicious. His eyes snapped open and he knew that they were burning with his tumultuous emotions and he purred out a yes. She blinked, obviously confused by his reaction. She nodded slowly. “Alright, Mr. J it is.” She scribbled some more on her paper, but he didn’t move his eyes from her face, watching the way her brows scrunched occasionally and the way she’d pull her plump bottom lip between her teeth. He wanted to take that lip from her and bite down. What surprised him was that he didn’t want to tear into it and see blood spurt from where it used to be. He wanted to taste it. To roll it between his teeth and trace it with his tongue. 

He slammed his head violently and abruptly down onto the table, splitting the skin on his forehead in an attempt to rid his head of those thoughts. The doctor jumped and launched forward, taking his head between her hands and tilting it downwards to inspect the injury. “Mistah. J! What the fuck!” There was that accent again. He grinned toothily at her. It didn’t hurt at all anymore, and was certainly nothing to previous injuries he’s had. Some by guards at this establishment. He giggled at that thought, but her hands were putting him right back in the mindset that caused him to bash his head to begin with, so he pulled his head away and leaned back, putting space between them. The blood running down his cheek and spilling over his lip didn’t faze him, but he was sure that the crimson smeared across his teeth would make her uncomfortable, and he was never one to pass up putting someone ill at ease. He widened his grin, the stretch of his cheeks burning. His unnatural grin almost dropped when he looked into her eyes and only saw the dwindling shock of his abrupt self-violence and nothing else. 

Not a second later the door burst open and the guards stormed in, guns drawn. “Doctor Quinzel! Are you alright, we heard a noise.” Joker rolled his eyes obnoxiously. Obviously she was fine. He was the one bleeding here.

“Hello, boys! Good to see you again, although I must admit you’re response time needs a little work. I could have good ole Harleen here gutted and be playing with her intestines by the time you got in here. Maybe you should go back into the hall and we can try again. Only this time I’ll actually try.” His voice was cheery, an odd incongruity with the violence promised by his words. He grinned even wider when he saw Harleen roll her eyes and let out a puff of air as she collapsed into her chair.

“Shut it, clown.” Tall, aka Thomason, gave him a sharp uppercut to the stomach, evoking a bout of deadly laughter from J which only grew more hysterical as Harleen threw herself to her feet, a deadly scowl gracing her features.

“Thomason! I’d appreciate it if you didn’t abuse my patient!” The accent was gone, replaced by fury. By now Thomason had pulled J to his feet and was holding him loosely. Fatal mistake.

“But Doc-” Her hand shot up, silencing him. 

“I don’t want to hear it. Treat him like a human being. He’s not a punching bag. I will be writing you up for this. And Mr. Joker,” his laughter faded out, manic eyes focusing on her, “I’m sorry our session got cut short by these imbeciles. I promise our session tomorrow will be full length. Have a wonderful evening.” She shot Thomason a cold glare and turned on her heel, striding out of the room gracefully. Thomason’s face was twisted into a scowl, his breathing heavy.

“Stuck up whore.” Thomason spit after her retreating figure. 

The Joker snapped, throwing his head back viciously into Thomason’s nose, resulting in an immensely satisfying crunch. J was planning on killing him anyway after his little punching stunt, but he had decided that Harleen was his and therefore, insulting her was Thomason’s final mistake. The Joker whirled around and latched his teeth to the guard’s ear, making sure he had a good hold of it before ripping his head to the side, the ear coming with him. Thomason’s scream was shrill and high pitched as his ear departed from his skull, but J was far from finished. He grinned at him, his teeth stained with his victims blood and the ear hanging between his lips. He spat the ear out then lashed out with his foot, concaving the guard’s knee with a grotesque snap as the joint broke and his patella was crushed. As Thomason let out nonstop wails and screams that joined the Joker’s eerie laugh in a demented symphony, the laugh reserved for occasions like this one and so often rang from gothamites’ televisions. J went in one last time, his teeth wrapping around Thomason’s throat and biting down harshly, crushing his esophagus and windpipe, before tearing them out. 

Shortstack had been standing there the whole time, shock and fear keeping him from saving his friend, forcing him to watch as he was brutally murdered by the clown that Dr. Quinzel had been so vehemently defending just moments ago. Shortstack turned and fled as the Joker stood there in all his glory, head thrown back in laughter, and his straitjacket now mostly a vibrant red rather than a dull white.


	3. Chapter Three: HA HA HA HA HA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so here's another chapter guys, sorry it's not too long. Also, writing from the Joker's perspective is so fucking hard like omlllll. He's so complex and his voice is nearly impossible to get just right so I know his pov probably isn't the best right now but I promise it'll improve the more I write in it. Please comment and let me know what you guys think! And if you see any mistakes and/or issues with the plot please let me know so that I can correct them. Love ya, my loons. Hope you enjoy!

Harleen collapsed onto her bed with a groan. She was so fucked. She’d let the Joker delve too deeply into her psyche today, and the darkness had risen to meet him. One session and he had already begun to worm his way in her head. And damn his eyes. Just like after the hallway incident she could still feel the burn of them on her body. She’d taken an hour long shower trying to replace the sting of his green eyes with the sting of hot water. It didn’t work. Harleen shoved her face into her pillow and let out a scream. She was better than this. She’d clawed her way to where she is now, and there’s no way in hell she was going to cave to a man in a straitjacket. 

It was a well known fact that the Joker had intellect. Incredible, genius level, intellect. But so did she. She’d always been brilliant, ever since she was a small child, and not just book smart either. People had always been so easy to understand for her. So easily manipulated and played with. That’s why she had gone into the profession she’s in. The patients were incredibly complex and so much more intriguing. She loved that they were so much harder to try and understand, but the Joker is on a whole other level and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t love every second they were interacting. Harleen let out one last groan before she gave into her heavy eyelids. She’d scheduled a session with the Joker again tomorrow since he was a new patient and she knew they wouldn’t get much done the first time around. 

The next morning she pretended not to notice that her skirt was a tad shorter than usual, or that her shirt was a bit tighter. She left her hair down in curls, claiming it was for the comfort of it. The night after her first run in with Mr. J she’d told herself that she was done shaping herself to others’ views, and at first she’d stuck with that. Right till she’d stepped into the Arkham lobby that next day. Sure , she’d ditched the bulky frames, but she knew that she couldn’t stop masking her voice. That Narrows accent made her stand out too much, and not in the way she preferred. Anytime she spoke with her real voice in her new world of educated people, people’s gaze turned shrewd and they began to look down their nose at her. They saw blonde trash from the slums. So the fake accent had stayed. Another layer to her disguise. Her black pumps complimented her teal button down and white pencil skirt nicely, her eye makeup natural and lips pink. She looked good and she knew it. Her mouth curled into a smirk and she strutted into her kitchen. She filled her travel mug to the brim with black coffee, her breakfast. 

She sped nearly the whole way to work, loving the thrill that came along with breakneck speeds. As she stepped out of her car she shrugged on her white coat and clipped her ID on, grabbing her purse and coffee before locking the vehicle. The secretary gave her the usual smile as she buzzed her in but the added security gave Harleen a pause. Shit. There must have been another attack, and she only needed one guess to tell you who was behind it. Her steps quickened as well as her pulse, she opened her office door just long enough to literally chuck her purse into it before she nearly sprinted down the hallway. As she skidded around the corner leading to Mr. J’s cell, a struggle came into view. The guards looked exhausted, as if they’d been doing this for hours, and they probably had. The Joker was kicking their asses, despite being restrained. He was beautiful when he fought. He maimed as if it were a dance, spinning and striking in such a graceful manner it brought Harleen up short. 

“MR. J!” He froze. His wild eyes snapped to her and his chest was heaving. At his look Harleen leaped into action, sprinting over to him, and placing her body between him and as many guards as she could. Later, when people spoke of how brave she was for confronting a mass murderer to protect a few guards, she wouldn’t contradict them. But she knew. She knew that she was protecting HIM from THEM. She was breathing nearly as heavily as he was, her eyes glaring into his, silently begging him to stop. Trying to make him understand that he was just making things worse for himself. 

His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. They flickered rapidly over her face, and she knew that he was a bit out of it. His irises were brimming with exhilaration and bloodlust and she was almost tempted to step aside and let him keep going, feeling it was a shame to ruin this high for him. But she knew she couldn’t. That he would lose and be locked up in solitary and the guards would beat him regularly while he was there. She took him gently by the elbow and slowly took a step towards his cell. He tensed, as if preparing to attack, and Harleen shifted her stance into a matching one, eyes darkening in warning. She’d take him on if she had to, but she was praying he’d go calmly into his room. Luck seemed to be on her side, the Joker’s muscles relaxed, and his shoulders dropped. He dragged his feet obnoxiously and followed her slowly. 

Harleen followed his lead and turned soft once more, smiling at him reassuringly as she ignored the dropped jaws and wide eyes of the guards. She stroked her finger along the restrained crook of his elbow after making sure that the motion would be hidden from their audience. She cooed quietly at him, telling him she understood, that sometimes she wanted to eviscerate them too. Her eyes promising violence just as greatly as they had before. She was enraged. How dare these men treat her patient this way. Why the fuck hadn’t anyone called her? Oh there was going to be hell to pay for this after she’d taken care of J. She gently pushed him onto the bed and pushed his hair back, smiling. “Okay, J, I’m gonna go take care of the guards now alright? I need you to stay here for me.” She took a hesitant step back, prepared for him to lash out once more, but when he didn’t she carried on out of the cell. She closed the door and locked it. 

She turned abruptly and squared her shoulders, her stance obviously protective as she stood between the guards and their access to the clown. “Time for you guys to go. The situation has been handled as you can see. Go fill out your reports and Dr. Arkham will call for you if he needs to speak with you.” A guard took a step forward, Harleen’s gaze zeroing in on him and she recognized him as Tyler Johnson. She already hated him for the stunt he’d pulled the last time Joker had gone on a rampage. Her muscles coiled and her lithe form shifted into a fighting stance without her really processing it doing so. 

“Doctor Quinzel,” Harleen smirked at the hesitant way he said her title as he obviously remembered the way she’d reacted last time he’d gotten it wrong, “the Joker has killed a guard and just attacked five more, he needs to be transported to solitary.” Her glare became icy cold on his skin and her nails began digging into her palms.

“Tyler,” his name was spat through gritted teeth, “there are signs that the Joker is currently in a manic state and attempting to transfer him will do nothing but provoke him. Leave him where he is. He’ll do less harm there and solitary has never deterred him before.” If anything, whenever guards managed to force him into a dark padded cell, his mental state had always extremely deteriorated by the time he came out. She wouldn’t let that happen. She had just proven that they’d established some level of trust and she wouldn’t let these numbskulls ruin that progress. Which is exactly what she told them.

Tyler started to take another step forward but hesitated when he saw the snarl it caused on Harleen’s face. He stared at her for a second before turning and jogging off, his comrades following him. She let out a sigh and collapsed against the Joker’s door. Harleen shook her head, blonde hair flying around as she did, reminding her that it was down and would have been a liability if this situation had boiled down to a fight. She turned around and punched in the code that gave her access to his room. She stepped in, the snap of her shoes drew the Joker’s attention. When their eyes met she strode over to him quickly and dropped onto her knees in front of him touching his bruised and swollen eye gently, and pulling out a handkerchief to dab at his bleeding lip. She twirled that stubborn piece of hair that always fell over those green eyes around her finger before tucking it back. 

His eyes never left hers, even as hers roamed his face, making sure none of the damage was too serious. She made sure to keep her touch light, her fingers just gently brushing over his skin. It was impossibly soft. Her finger traced the letter under his eye, and followed the curling letters on his forehead. Eventually her patient pulled back, his nonexistent brows furrowed as he stared at her, seemingly looking for something hidden in her face. Harleen raised a questioning eyebrow and rocked back onto her heels. Slowly, he brought his finger to her mouth, tracing her lips. She could tell by the concentrated look on his face that he was working hard to be as gentle as she was, obviously not used to touching another person in any way that wasn’t harmful. A patient in the cell to their left slammed something, startling Harleen out of reverie and she launched up and back. This was intimate. Way too intimate. She spun, sunshine curls arching behind her and she nearly ran out of his cell, the slam of the door echoing down the hall, chasing at her feet. 

J sat there in his cell reeling. He was angry. He was angry at the guards for manhandling him like an animal. He was angry at himself for treating Harleen as gently as he did. Angry at Harleen for taking off the way she did, as if he was nothing. He stood and took the few short steps needed to reach the other wall, slamming his fist into it as hard as he could. He snarled at the crack in his knuckles that resulted. He grinned at the scream that came from the connecting cell. He rolled his neck, cracking it and spread his arms wide, cackling. His pretty little doctor had managed to catch him by surprise. It wouldn’t happen again. The next time the bitch thought it would be a good idea to place her tiny body between him and his target he’d snap every bone in it, and laugh in her face as he did so.  
His haunting laugh grew louder at that thought as he fell backwards onto the concrete floor, not noticing or caring about the bruising pain in his back that it caused. Doctor, doctor. Apparently what they said about blondes was true. She obviously trusted him not to hurt her, believed him to care for her to some extent. It was the only possible reason she could have to pull a stunt like that. The malice he felt in that moment cleared out the manic fog that had previously clouded his eyes earlier. He forced his smile painfully wide, to the point where his cheeks burned and he felt that the corners of his mouth would crack open.

No matter how much he hated it, Harleen interested him. He was positive that somewhere under the doctor act was someone just like him. He hated the drab doctor persona she wore like a shield. He much preferred the wildcat that rose to the surface anytime someone came close to pissing her off, or she felt disrespected. He let out a growl. Oh yeah, he preferred that little wildcat who’s claws were so close to the surface, struggling to be freed. 

The Joker had never been very sexually active. He definitely enjoyed a good fuck now and then, but he’d never craved it the way others did. He’d never lusted after the leggy and busty women that twirled around him in his club. He’d always just assumed it was because he wasn’t simply a man- an idea didn’t lust after whores- and he hated that Harleen ruined that pattern. The way she affected him in a physical sense made him feel typical, ordinary, and he loathed it. He was meant to be above the normal human needs, and here she was trying to prove him to be just another meatbag of a man. He gritted his teeth.

Fuck that and fuck her. The Joker leapt to his feet with predatory grace and began pacing. He’d gotten so distracted by the bitch’s pretty face that he’d forgotten his endgame. She was a plaything, and a means to an end. He cracked his neck again, feeling more like himself than he had in days and picked up singing the lullaby he’d been singing to Mad Hatter not so long ago. He’d made it up specifically to torture the Lewis Carroll oaf, and the man’s complaints fuelled the pleasant fire in J’s chest as he sang. He hadn’t realized how unsettled the little Harlequin had made him until he’d snapped himself out of the stupor. Since he first saw the ice in her eyes that had made him take notice, and his interest being piqued even more by her clown-like name, he’d been unbalanced, ill at ease. But now he was himself again, and he was going to turn her mind inside out during her little sessions before shredding it with his teeth. She’d be in a straitjacket by the time he was done and out of here. But not before she single handedly saw to his escape.

Harleen sat at her desk, banging her head against it rhythmically. Fuck , fuck, fuck, fuck. Not even twelve hours ago she’d been telling herself that she was going to unravel The Clown Prince of Crime and use him to further her career. And there she was less than twelve fucking hours later literally kneeling before him. She grabbed a binder off the desk and threw it across her office as hard as she could, shrieking angrily. The binder hit the wall with a thud and papers fluttered loosely through the air, bearing a striking resemblance to that important day in the hallway, when J’s laugh caused her to scatter documents across one of Arkham’s many dull hallways. That day his laugh had evoked fear, now it caused goosebumps to crawl up her arms and her heart to stutter. Screw him and his horribly handsome looks and even more interesting mind. 

She wanted to deck herself right in the face for having those thoughts, especially after promising herself that she was going to beat the Joker at this game they were playing. “FUCK.” She drove her fist angrily into her thigh, an action that would surely result in a nasty bruise. She didn’t take notice of the pain, she simply leapt to her feet in a move that only a gymnast could execute and began pacing. Words spouted from her lips without her noticing that she was saying them out loud as she lectured herself vigorously, her tone angry and determined. “I’m not going to fall in love with my mass murderer patient. I’m not going to play into his hands. And I’m NOT going to lose to some clown in a straitjacket.” 

Harleen winced at the derogatory term in that last sentence. Sure, J obviously embraced the clown persona, but she hated the way the people in this shitty building spat it out as an insult- the way she just did- and she hated that she cared that much. Harleen had always been good at shutting down her emotions, at becoming cold and calculating. But now, when she needed to do so, she couldn't. Her amygdala was laughing at her as it forced those feelings down her throat and punched them through her heart. She slowed to a stop and took a deep breath. Okay, so this was just a new challenge. She had to figure out how to play, and win, the game with those emotions stubbornly intact. That’s how she needed to view this. As a challenge. With one final deep breath Harleen began collecting her papers and slid them back into the binder. 

She straightened back up and placed the binder on her desk before squaring her shoulders. She had calmed down and once more felt like herself. It was unusual for Harleen to spiral so drastically into panic and feelings. She’d always kept herself tightly under control, another step she took to keep that darkness buried deep. This darkness screamed at her to just let go. To have fun. That part of her was so extreme. It felt the boredom and the anger and the excitement so fully and deeply that giving into it could only lead to mayhem and destruction. Being around the Joker weakened the walls she’d built around that part of her. His very presence caused that darkness to scream impossibly louder. And while she hated to admit it even to herself, that scared her. She’d worked hard to bury those urges and feelings deep and to build a career that allowed her to study that part of herself in others. And the way he threatened all of that effort without even trying positively terrified her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment or a kudos (preferably both) if you liked it! Feel free to leave constructive criticism but don’t be rude.  
Please visit my Ko-Fi!!!  
https://ko-fi.com/disastergrace


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